Mistletoe & Mayhem: Mistletoe & Mayhem / Santa's Sexy Secret. Lori Wilde
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now, I think we’d better go downstairs and inform Sheriff Dillon we’ve had another break-in.”
“And I’ll make some of my famous hot chocolate. It’s just the thing to calm everyone’s nerves,” Irene said, leading the way down the stairs.
“One taste and you’ll wish we left you hanging,” Jodie predicted in a low tone as she slipped past Shane and caught up with the two older women.
SHANE LEANED BACK in his chair and let the conversation hum around him. Across the length of the kitchen table, Dillon was jotting down information in his notebook. But no matter how cleverly or persistently the sheriff asked the question, no one was willing to say that the prowler in the attic had definitely been Billy Rutherford.
When it came right down to it, Shane wasn’t certain himself. Thanks to the darkness and the fact that he’d been occupied dodging fists, he hadn’t gotten a good look at the man’s face.
Shane shifted his gaze to Jodie. Had she gotten a better look? She said not, and she could be telling the truth. In his mind, he could still picture her stretching out that window, still feel the fear that had twisted in his gut when he’d grabbed her and found that she was already more than halfway out, teetering. If he’d been a second later…Quickly, he pushed the image out of his mind and reminded himself that she’d had the full benefit of the moonlight while she was at the window. He studied her in the harsh, overhead glow of the kitchen light. Could anyone look that innocent and still be a liar? Part of him wanted to say yes. But there was another part of him…His gaze dropped to her mouth. It was soft, unpainted. She was sitting three feet away from him and he could almost taste her. Desire crept through him, leaving a dull ache in its wake.
He wanted her, and it was interfering with his judgment. The only thing he should be thinking about was whether or not Jodie had gotten a good look at the intruder. And if she had, was she lying to protect Billy Rutherford?
Deliberately, Shane shifted his gaze to Dillon. His best guess was that the sheriff wasn’t sure about that, either. Otherwise the man would have beat a hasty retreat the moment he’d sampled Irene’s special hot chocolate.
It was “special” all right. Her secret recipe had all the flavor of warmed-up mud. Lazarus had taken one sniff of the sample she’d poured into his dish and all but loped out of the room. Shane glanced down at his own full mug. In a minute he’d have to take another drink. His excuse that it was too hot was wearing thin. There wasn’t a plant in sight, and there was no way to tip it up his sleeve since he was wearing a sweater.
When his gaze collided with Jodie’s, he saw the amusement as well as the challenge. She raised her mug in a mock salute.
He reached for his, gripping the handle carefully as he lifted it. Then suddenly, he winced and the mug slipped through his fingers, spilling its contents as it rolled to the edge of the table and dropped to the floor. In the time it took him to grip his shoulder with his free hand, he read the expressions of everyone in the room. Jodie’s was a mixture of admiration and envy, Dillon’s was one of surprise, but the ladies’ eyes were filled with worry and concern. He rubbed his shoulder, wincing again. “Sorry. I must have landed harder than I thought.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Irene said as she hurried over with a cloth.
“I’ll get you another in just a moment.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just help Jodie finish hers.”
Dillon’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you want a lift to the emergency room?”
Keeping his expression pained, Shane shook his head. “My shoulder seemed fine before. It must be stiffening up.”
“Got just the thing,” Sophie said, rising and moving toward the pantry.
“I’d better file this report,” Dillon said, nodding to Irene and Jodie. “I’ll send a patrol car by every hour or so. And if any of you hear from Billy, I want you to call me.”
“It wasn’t Billy,” Irene said as she escorted Dillon out of the room. “Even as a little boy, he didn’t like to climb trees.”
“I’ve got something that will take care of that shoulder,” Sophie said as she reentered from the pantry. “It works wonders for sore muscles and joints. Take off your sweater.” Then turning to Jodie, she said, “You’re going to give the lad a massage.”
“Me?” Jodie asked. “I can’t. I don’t know anything about—”
Sophie snorted. “It isn’t brain surgery we’re talking about. It’s a massage, and I can’t do it because of the arthritis in my hands. C’mon, I’ll talk you through it.”
Jodie turned to Shane, and discovered there’d be no help from him. He just sat there, grinning from ear to ear. But the challenge in his eyes had her stepping up beside Sophie.
“There,” Sophie said as she poured a dollop of oil into Jodie’s palms. “Now, rub them together. There, that’s good. Now, place your hands on his shoulders.”
Jodie moved around behind Shane’s chair. It was just a massage, she told herself. It wasn’t…well, it wasn’t a whole lot of other things. It wasn’t as though she were kissing him again. Or feeling his body pressed close. As the warmth started to spread through her, she quickly pushed the other things she’d been thinking about doing with Shane Sullivan out of her mind. She could do this. People gave massages to other people all of the time. For some people, it was a job.
“Now, press down,” Sophie said. “And release. That’s right. Press and release. I told you, you could do it. It’s as simple as breathing.”
Right, Jodie thought. Except that it wasn’t so easy to breathe anymore. The air around her seemed to have thickened slightly. Think of something else, she told herself. Think of the grin on his face. She drew in a deep breath and let it out.
“Now, move your hands closer to his neck,” Sophie said.
She did as she was told and tried to block the sensations that had begun to move through her. Closing her mind to everything else, she focused on moving her hands over Shane in the rhythm Sophie was dictating. She’d never before realized how sensitive her fingers were. Incredible. They were absorbing everything—the prickly hairs on the back of his neck, the pulse beating at his throat.
“Press, release. Press, release.”
Sophie’s voice came from a distance, but it didn’t matter because her hands seemed to have developed a will of their own. They were moving in a circular motion back to his shoulders, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing. The feel of his skin beneath her hands was mesmerizing. The air seemed to be filled with the sound of her own breathing, her own heartbeat quickening. Beneath the musky scent of the oil, she could smell something much more intriguing, something dark and male.
Her palms recorded each separate sensation—the smooth, slick warmth of his skin, the taut muscles beneath that gave when she pressed. A feeling of power moved through her, and suddenly there were other places she wanted to touch. She stroked her hands down his spine, then moved them slowly up again. There was such heat here. It moved from his skin to hers and then spread until it burned deep in her center. She wanted to do more than touch him. She wanted to lean forward and press her mouth to the back of his neck. To taste him. To have him turn and…
His skin was only inches away from her lips when she paused. What was she thinking? Drawing back a little, she tore her eyes off Shane and glanced around the kitchen. It was empty. How long had she—
“Don’t stop.”
It took her a second to realize that he’d spoken, that it wasn’t just the voice in her head.
“I can’t. We can’t.” Before she could lift her hands from him, he snagged her wrist and turned to face her. The moment she looked into his eyes, they trapped her as swiftly, as surely, as his hand had. In them she could see exactly what she was feeling, and all she would have to do was lean forward. It